


Are Made of This

by rivlee



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6739168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two different nights in the lives of Sam and Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are Made of This

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off two tumblr prompts.One from lookashiny who requested: _Bucky/Sam, Sam has a nightmare, canon-verse_. Another from an anon who requested: _sambucky, bucky risks himself to protect sam in a battle and sam yells at him because he can protect himself dammit and bucky doesn't know how to explain what he did other than bursting out with 'i love you'_. I hope you enjoy

Nightmares weren’t a common thing for Sam Wilson, not anymore at least. Sure, they still cropped up now and then, the nightmares and the flashbacks—he didn’t know how anyone who served in any theater or war or survived any sort of trauma could come out of it without some sort of nightmares—but they stopped becoming a daily occurrence after years of therapy, meditation, and time. Sometimes he could go through a day and know a nightmare would be coming, either that night or within the week. He could just feel it, like when the air got that certain dry heat he remembered from the desert, dust stuck in the back of his throat, and that horrible taste in his mouth. Or when he’d catch a line from _Fly Like an Eagle_ on the radio; that was Riley’s own self-declared theme song and it made Sam think of him every time, all the good and the bad things that came with legacy and memory. He either relived his last day with Riley on those nights or had those horrible dreams where Riley lived and it all felt _real_ and then he’d wake up to his actual reality with tears in his eyes and choking on Riley’s name. 

Some nights though, there was no predicting what his subconscious mind would cook up. There was no avoiding a trigger he didn’t recognize and couldn’t even see. Some nights he just had memories that turned into nightmares. Some nights they were night terrors. 

As Sam woke up in a puddle of sweat with his throat raw he knew it was one of those nights; he knew he’d been screaming. He could feel his hands shake as he leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp. He grabbed for the glass of water he always kept there and cursed when it fell to the floor. 

“You okay?”

Sam looked up to find Bucky in the doorway. He had a bottle of water in one hand and a towel in the other. It was clear he’d been waiting for Sam to wake up, had known to keep his distance and let the nightmare run its course. They both knew Bucky had two lifetimes of experience when it came to nightmares and terrifying memories. 

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Sam croaked. He coughed and tried to clear his throat and ended up coughing more. There was a soft thud as the water bottle landed next to him on the bed. A second later the towel hit him in the head. 

“So much for your accuracy,” Sam said.

“Right on target,” Bucky said. He cautiously stepped into the room, his movements exaggerated, his feet dragging on the carpet and making sound Sam knew Bucky was trained to avoid. 

 

It was all for Sam’s benefit, unspoken of course, and Sam gave Bucky a grateful nod of acknowledgement. He patted the spot next to him on the bed and Sam smiled as it dipped under Bucky’s deceptively heavy weight. The arm and its whole support system had to add at least twenty-five pounds to his frame. 

Bucky was in a worn pair of sweatpants that had once been designated for Sam’s workout wardrobe, and an old, faded, _Reading Rainbow_ t-shirt that he’d found in a _Goodwill_. 

Sam still wasn’t sure just how he’d wound up with Bucky, how he’d followed Sam back home like a little lost puppy, how when the entire world was out there, Bucky had decided Sam was a sort of safe house. On nights like this he appreciated having Bucky in his home with his quiet comfort.

A lot of other people wouldn’t get it, a lot of people in his past hadn’t, and Bucky never pushed. He never asked Sam if he wanted to talk about it, just if he was okay. He never tried to hurriedly mumble out platitudes meant to be soothing that somehow always came off insulting, or a pat on the shoulder and a ‘chin up, Wilson.’ He responded to whatever cues Sam gave off. Sometimes he offered distraction; an offer to watch some movie he hadn’t seen yet, or album he’d had yet to listen to, or some current trend or meme or whatever he’d found on the internet that day after going into a Wikipedia spiral. Tonight he just sat beside Sam, his own comfort in the silence, as Sam took slow sips of water. 

Sam focused on screwing the cap back on the bottle, glad to see his hands had stopped shaking, and set it carefully on the bedside table. He grabbed the towel and wiped off his face, the back of his neck, and finally dropped it to the ground and pressed it into the puddle on the carpet with his feet. The focus on the little things helped him to center himself until he could finally look up and give Bucky a tired, strained smile. 

“At least it was water,” Bucky said. “And the glass didn’t break. I don’t think you want to see my attempts at first aid.”

Sam laughed at the image of Bucky trying to hold a pair of tiny tweezers with his metal hand as he rooted around for glass shards in Sam’s feet. It wasn’t particularly funny, really, and yet Sam still damn near laughed himself to tears. 

He let himself relax then, take a deep breath, another, and rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. It was a strong shoulder, never wavering when Sam let himself lean. 

“Thanks, Barnes,” he said.

“No problem, Wilson,” Bucky said. He rested his own head on top of Sam’s. “Could fall asleep like this,” he murmured.

“I’d like to explain that injury to my chiropractor,” Sam said.

“Sure it’d go down as well as ‘I wear a wing pack that I use to fly through the air and kick perfectly innocent brainwashed soldiers.’”

“Jackass,” Sam said.

He could feel Bucky’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter. 

“Jackass,” Sam repeated with even more feeling even as he started laughing too.

********************

“Where the hell is he?” Sam asked as he ripped off his goggles.

Just outside their makeshift shelter there was the smoldering remains of some mad scientist’s lab and his Artificial Intelligence Army, but all Sam could think about was the _fucking jackass_ who had pushed him out of the way to take a goddamned laser hit. 

“Uh, this looks bad,” Clint said with an ice pack pressed on one side of his head and his rolled up jacket pressed to Bucky’s wound with his other hand. Bucky wasn’t moving, probably knocked unconscious from when he hit the ground.

“Helpful, Barton,” Sam snapped as he carefully shoved Clint out of the way. “Putting a dirty jacket on an open wound, god help me. Where did you learn this shit?”

“The circus,” Clint said. He handed Sam a roll of bandages and the rest of the first aid kit. “It already looks like he’s healing, Sam.”

Sam didn’t say anything as he carefully pulled back Clint’s jacket. He was right, the wound looked more like a deep bullet graze now. At least the edges were relatively clean, it would make stitching easier. 

Sam pulled off his utility gloves for vinyl ones and pulled out the suture kit. He didn’t say anything as he threaded and pulled and cut off the excess thread. He didn’t say anything as he put the gauze pads and tape over his work. He didn’t say anything as he peeled off his gloves and used Clint’s ruined jacket as a makeshift trash-bag for medical waste. He didn’t say anything as he checked the back of Bucky’ skull for any wounds since the asshole had landed hard after he took the hit. He didn’t say anything when they got back to their temporary safe house and took up vigil at Bucky’s side, checking his vitals hour after hour.

He didn’t’ say a damn thing until those blue eyes fluttered opened and looked around the room in confusion. 

“James Buchanan Barnes what the actual fuck is the matter with you?” Sam asked. Yelled, he could admit he yelled it, and didn’t for one second regret it. Sam could feel his fear damn near choking him. He wasn’t going to live through that bullshit again.

“No one is fucking sacrificing themselves for me, do you understand?” Sam asked. Yelled, again, he could be honest about it.

“Christ, full name, that’s not good,” Bucky croaked out. 

Sam glared and handed him a cup of water. “Drink through the damn straw, jackass. Last thing I need is you choking.”

“Sorry if my bleeding inconvenienced you,” Bucky said as he sat up. 

“Your jumping in front of a laser bullet inconvenienced me,” Sam said.

“I can take it,” Bucky said.

Sam wanted to hit him. He could feel his fingers flex in response and gripped his own arms harder. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Sam?” Bucky asked. He had a look of frustration or pain or both on his face. “I can take it. What the hell else am I good for? At least now I can choose how I get hurt.”

“Jesus, James,” Sam said as he shook his head. “I don’t want you to choose to get hurt for me—for anyone. You’re worth more than that.”

“It’s my choice,” Bucky said. He raised his chin, met Sam’s eyes with conviction. “I’d do it again. I will do it again. Better get used to it.”

“You’re more than a weapon; you’re more than someone who can take the hit. You know that,” Sam insisted.

Bucky nodded. They’d talked about it after so many sessions with his therapist, Bucky coming home and asking Sam if he could listen as Bucky worked out his thoughts in the aftermath. Bucky had said those words himself, proudly declared what he no longer was and who he wanted to become. 

“I do,” Bucky agreed. “But Sam, if it’s me or you? I’m always going to pick you.”

Sam felt his breath catch and he had to remind himself to relax and breathe. Bucky didn’t meant it like _that_ ; he was the type of guy who deeply devoted himself to his friendships.

“I love you,” Bucky said. His gaze never wavered. “I know you don’t—I know it’s not—I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, or make you feel uncomfortable, but you’re going to keep questioning why I’m going to do the things I do, and so you need to know. I love you.”

“Like you love Steve,” Sam said, not letting himself hope for more.

Bucky shook his head, “No. Steve’s my brother,” he said. “I’ll always love him, but we’re—I’m not who I was and he’s not who he was and we’re always going to be fighting those memories as we try to figure out who we are now. You, Sam? You know _me_ as I am now, whatever or whoever that is. So yeah, I love you. Not like I love Steve.”

Sam felt weightless in that moment, almost like he was in the air again, happy, and hopeful, and scared all at once. He couldn’t look away from Bucky’s eyes. He didn’t want to.

The distinct sound of an apple being bit into broke their gaze and they both looked towards the doorway where Clint and Kate stood.

“Bad time?” Kate asked as Clint lounged beside her and ate his apple. 

“Time for us to move out?” Bucky asked, already swinging his legs down to get out of the bed. 

Sam leaned forward and stopped him. “Stay down and rest. You’re lucky you didn’t get gutted.”

“Blondie with the shield just called and told us to take a day,” Kate said. She snapped a picture of Bucky with her phone. “He also wanted photographic proof that Barnes wasn’t dead or dying.”

“Go away,” Sam said. “Send Eli back instead.”

“We’re all going out to get food,” Kate said. She glared at Clint for a second. “More food, at least. You’ll have the place to yourselves if you want to have your Harlequin Romance love confession scene, but try to make it before midnight, because then Eli wins the pool then instead of me, and I’ve got to get some more arrows.”

“Bishop, get the hell out of here,” Bucky said. 

“Kids these days,” Clint said as she sauntered off. “We’ll lock up behind us.” He pointed at Sam. “Remember, he has stitches and you’re down a suture kit.”

“Barton, get the hell out of here,” Sam said.

Clint grinned. “Aww, you’re already doing the thing.” He squawked a second later when Bucky hit him square in the face with a pillow. 

Sam used the distraction to shove Clint out the door and close and lock it behind him. He took a moment there to center himself, pressed his fingers to the worn, chipped paint of the door to remind himself this was his actual reality, and smiled. 

He walked over to Bucky with renewed confidence and sat beside him on the bed. He took Bucky’s hands in his own, the metal and the flesh, all parts of the infuriating jackass before him and started to talk.

“I never really lived _with_ someone. I grew up with my family of course, and I had roommates, and Riley was probably the closest to whatever that _with_ meant, but I still didn’t spend hours trying to think about how I could make him smile. Leila’s a close second, but I think we always felt like we were holding the other back and we never even bothered with the moving-in together talk. I’ve never wanted to share my life with someone like that and then you—Bucky you just _fit_. I like working this job with you and then us going home together and just being there for each other. I love the stupid little things we share and all the talks and way too many nights eating ice cream for dinner because why the hell not. You get it, you get me, and Bucky if we got a chance at this, I say we take it and run.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. Simple and honest and everything.

Sam tightened his grip. “And I know I can’t stop you from reacting how you will when we’re out there fighting, but just know that every time you make the stupid-ass choice to get yourself hurt over me, I’m going to be mighty pissed off each and every time. I’m still going to be here though, by your side in the aftermath, and then I’m going to take you back to our home ranting the entire way. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“And I don’t want to see you dead.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Sam said. “And I know you know I’m capable of defending myself.”

“Pretty sure my ribs still have your boot prints on them,” Bucky agreed. “It’s not that I know you can’t defend yourself, Sam. It’s just—I need you to be safe and I’ll do anything I can. It’s not just that you always protect the medic, it’s—it’s what I have to do. I’ll try my best not to get dead.”

“Good enough,” Sam said. He recognized arguments he couldn’t win. He tugged Bucky down and curled up beside him, careful to avoid his wound. “Sleep?” he asked.

“Sleep,” Bucky agreed. He kissed the top of Sam’s head and smiled. “Sweet dreams.”

“Jackass.”

**Author's Note:**

> The inbox is always open from sambucky prompts at my [tumblr](http://antiquecompass.tumblr.com/).


End file.
